


Don't Feel a Thing

by Waistcoat35



Category: Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
Genre: Angst, Minor Character Death, POV, Perspective writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waistcoat35/pseuds/Waistcoat35
Summary: Candy misses his dog, he won't deny it. He also blames Carlson partly for his choice. But is he at fault as well?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So we just finished Of Mice and Men in class, and it broke me. I almost ended up crying but managed to stay strong. We had to do perspective writing about halfway through, and I was quite pleased with mine so I've decided to put it up.

Don't Feel a Thing  
By Waistcoat35  
They said it wouldn' hurt him none. That it'd be over in the flicker of an eyelid, the pull of a trigger, the innocent swish of a tail. "He'd never know what hit 'im. Just shoot 'em right there and they don't feel a thing." That's what Carlson said. Carlson. Doubter. Murderer.   
I jus' hope that the bloody fool was speaking the truth. It's not just the dog who didn't feel the shot- I went numb at the dawning realisation that he was really gone; the old dog wasn't going to come limping back through the door with Carlson, the man hadn't had some miraculous change of heart. I felt as though it would be us against the world until the end - when I was too old to work and got the boot, I wouldn't be alone with my thoughts - I'd be with somebody who saw things through the same world-weary eyes as myself. I didn' need him t' be able these thoughts aloud - it would be enough just to have that deep-rooted knowledge that he somehow understood. But our kindred ways of thinking don't seem to be enough for the others. They seemed to think that there was nothing but aching bones and tired muscles beneath the grizzled fur; they saw an old dog who needed putting out of his misery and nothing more.

My American dream's dead and buried - but I can help build another one. I may've found a place for myself once I get the boot - two lads have come up from Weed and seem to wish for the same thing as me - peace, somewhere we can be seen as we are. Where I won' be seen as some old codger who can' work no more. 

I'll miss the old dog, there's no way aroun' that; you can' stop yourself from feelin' some emotions - they stay, an' they hurt. But p'haps my old dog was ready to go - when you sign up for a friendship like that you're committing to stay until the end - and maybe sometimes that end is one you have to give yourself. He's been given his peace - now I just wish I'd been the one with enough courage to provide it. He's earned his rest and got it - it was never right to keep him from it. I should've seen that before. Seen it clear enough to have shot that dog myself. He should've been able to rely on me for his death.

My friend is gone, and I don't feel a thing- I feel numb with the knowledge of what I should've, but didn't do.


End file.
